


When The World Comes Crashing Down

by atenebrae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coda, Episode: s15e18 Despair, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hope, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Season Finale, Season/Series 15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27489511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atenebrae/pseuds/atenebrae
Summary: When Cas was taken by the Empty, he thought it was the end, that he would fall asleep in the darkness forever, away from everything and everyone he's ever loved. But his thoughts keep him strangely awake, tormented by memories of so many years of longing and ache, and when he expects it the least - he wakes up, and everything's changed.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 12
Kudos: 156





	When The World Comes Crashing Down

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people! Here I am, rising from the ashes of two years without a single fic to bring you this thing. I haven't been able to think about anything else since the episode (15x18), and well, my old love for writing about those characters came back all at once. There's no particular warning about this story, just tragedy - as usual.  
> Hope you will enjoy, I've missed doing this so much!

When the Empty had spilled over him, thick and comforting, Castiel had expected to sleep. To fall unconscious into the darkness and to never wake again.

But his thoughts were very much alive now, fluttering wildly about like a flight of moths, tapping gently against his skull. Oh, he knew he was asleep somehow – his body was heavy, heavy as lead, and he could feel the press of his eyelids against his pupils – but it was not slumber. More of a caging, a trap within his own bones where his grace pooled in his belly, never at ease.

He supposed it was good enough for the Empty, that now that it had swallowed both Death and him in one hungry mouthful, it was satiated and happy, curled in a pit of hollow darkness, enjoying the sweet, deadly silence wrapped around it like a blanket.

_Good enough._

But Castiel wasn’t sleeping. His body was dead, cold and stiff and useless, but behind that prison of skin and blood, his mind was alight. It circled round and round his head, racing madly with a conscience of its own, like a sentient being trying to break free. No matter how hard he tried to reach for it, grabbing it in his palm and squeeze until it was calm again and he could finally enjoy the humming of the emptiness around him, it ran away and his brain burned with the strength of it.

Wasn’t Death supposed to be peaceful? Well, maybe he wasn’t one to speak: all his deaths – improbable to die a dozen times yet as normal to him as seeing the sun rise, to feel the stab of a blade, yes, none of his deaths had been peaceful. But the rest, the aftermath, were. There just had been nothing; one moment he was alive and then he wasn’t. And each time he had awaken, there hadn’t been anything to remember in-between. Death hadn’t been a wide plain of black and cold, it hadn’t been anything at all, which was, well, what Death was supposed to be. The absence of everything.

But now. This _wasn’t_ rest. This _wasn’t_ peace.

His mind was as tormented as it had been when he was alive, if not even more willing to to torture him with doubt and questions and emotions bright as the Sun.

_Shush, quiet now, there’s nothing left for us now, only sleep, only sleep_.

But no, what about the memories? The memories that kept us walking and breathing even when it was hard to even be?

_They’re in the past now. In life. Where we aren’t._

Oh, but doesn’t it feel good to remember them? To feel them burn in your fingertips, ran your veins upstream, sizzle in your blood and rush to your head? Doesn’t it feel good to hold them close to you and know they’ve existed?

_No, because it keeps us from moving on. Life’s behind, that – that sweeping land of nothingness – is all there is now. I don’t regret what I did._

I know. But just stop, just for a second. Forget about death, about darkness, just hold these memories a little longer, and then I’ll be quiet, the mind said. Just one last time before silence takes everything that’s left of us.

And Castiel knew he should refuse. It was not healthy, to cling onto life like that – but really, could a small handful of remembering be that dangerous?

So he remembered.

His thoughts melted, soft and complying, and he was swept into their tenderness. He shivered at the touch of them, the brief sensation of being alive again making the tears prickle behind his closed eyes.

It was a memory like another. He couldn’t really pinpoint it in time, but it was there, real and warm in his head. He was sitting at one of the tables of the library, and when he took a deep breath of the memory, it was soft as honey, the sharp tang of wood and old book pages. He looked around him, and there was Sam, giving him a tired, but encouraging smile. Next to him, Jack was staring at the big volume in front of him, a hard frown over his young, pale face – and when he felt Castiel looking at him, he rose his head and his eyes were wide and clear, and then he bounced off his chair and suggested he’d bring snacks for everyone. Castiel watched him stride away, and in the memory he felt his lips stretch into a smile.

Heat radiated on his right and he didn’t need to look to know.

But he didn’t get to choose. It was a memory, not a game. So he let his eyes glide over.

Dean was slumped back on his chair, groaning at the old, yellow papers in his hands, mumbling something about witches and his ruined weekend. Castiel heard Sam scold him gently, but he couldn’t look away. He felt his heart quicken, and he was not sure if it was in the memory, or in the remembrance. Perhaps it was both.

Dean complained again, sarcasm rumbling low in the back of his throat and he pushed the parchments back on the table. Castiel watched him press his white knuckles against his eye-sockets, before he ran his fingers in his hair, exhaling loudly – and God, look away, now!

But he couldn’t, and suddenly Dean blinked and turned to him, and now it was too late. It was as if Dean’s bright eyes hooked his soul in, and his grace stuttered, stunned for a moment, and he saw the slight confusion etching itself onto Dean’s brow, so finally, he looked away as if nothing had happened. As if he didn’t hate himself for the way the mere sight of Dean beside him awakened some storm of an emotion inside pf him.

He wanted to say, _enough, that’s enough, I know my own memories, I don’t need to dive back into them, or I know I’ll never get to the surface again_.

But the memory shifted again, and he lost all the quivering control he had over his thoughts. His skin was ran all over by shivers, the pounding of his blood deafening against his ear drums.

He remembered.

First came the fire, the heat. Back then, even though he had already lived centuries and seen civilization rise and fall and rise again, he had felt brand new and strong, true form slashing against the hard flames of Hell, and there, he had spot it, the shining soul glowing cold behind the flesh and bone. He hadn’t thought twice, it was written in his grace by godly intention, that he had to save it, that soul, that human. He had reached for it, fingertips growing tiny and tiny, and he had ground his many teeth when he had felt the human skin sizzle beneath his touch, growing red. He had ignored the split-second stammer his heart had had and he had pulled, shooting back towards the black, ashy skies to pull the soul away.

He had thought it was the end of it. That everything was going to go back to normal, of course. What else could happen, really?

He had been ordered to speak to the human, and his laughter had grow cold and haughty in his mouth when he had seen him fall to the floor, palms clasped against his ears. His grace had been ice-cold when he had burned the psychic’s eyes, because no one was allowed to speak his name, no one but him. And then again, he had thought it was over – over, until he felt the shudder of a summon run along his feathers, and he had obliged. He had glided down to Earth, light as a raindrop, pausing in front of the old, dilapidated barn for a moment. What would he find inside – the soul he had saved, of course, he could feel it beating beyond the wooden walls, but _how_ would he find it? Would it feel the same than among the flames?

Eager to find out, he had made thunder roll around him, lightning strike as the doors swung open and electricity crackled above his head, and there it had been. The soul – no, the human, staring at him in confusion and anger, startled to the bone when Castiel had made his friend drop to the floor in slumber. And he couldn’t deny it, it had felt mighty to see the human, Dean, yes, it was his name, open wide eyes at the sight of his wings, his power, and at the time he had been nothing, nothing more than a small pawn in God’s big game.

Ah, how bitter-ironic it felt to Castiel today, to know he had spent the rest of his life fighting so Dean wouldn’t be just a little docile soldier in God’s cruel hands.

He was tired now, the blackness calling him again, but the memory twisted and showed teeth, and the years rushed by.

It barely felt like reality, as if all he was seeing was just a colorful swirl of life stitched together, but not belonging to him. But it was true, and as he remembered, he could feel the beating of his heart grow shallower with sweet ache.

Yes, years flew by, silver-quick, and before he knew it, he was rebelling against Heaven. Oh, there had been a shift in his soul, for sure, unpleasant doubt lodged between his ribs, but he hadn’t truly realized its extant until he had been there, cutting his own palm, smearing blood on the walls, breath quickening as he realized, I’m doing this for _one_ human. He only had time to give Dean a last look, and then he had wrenched himself away.

The rest was a steady flow of chaos. Bit by bit, everything he had known, everything he had always believed to be true had crumbled away, only leaving doubt, godforsaken _doubt_. Seconds and minutes and days and months, all tainted in pain and fear and hatred, as he slowly unraveled. Thousands of years of divine teaching and holy wars whisked away by one annoying human being, the blood of his own brethren on his hands as proof of this change in him. He had felt this shift like a knife to the heart, a spark and a gust of air that had set his grace ablaze, leaving all the foundations of his being burning.

The more time had passed, the more he had realized how far he had come. He didn’t miss Heaven anymore, he didn’t take any pride in being an angel anymore. No creature in the Universe could have predicted it, but slowly his life had laced itself with the sleek of a black car and the smell of dusty motels, and as odd as it sounded, it felt _right_ , somehow.

There had been pain. So much of it, so much he thought he would drown in it. To constantly be pinched by taunting Destiny, to avoid Death by a breath day after day after day – though the worst still remained to see the brothers he now protected hurt. The pain put on himself was nothing compared next to that.

But pain, there was, but not only. There had been happiness, sweet and sharp, and laughter and relief and peace. Tiny glimpses of moments where things stopped hurting and he just _was_.

And quietly, hidden in the shadows, something else had emerged too.

He hadn’t noticed at first, and looking back on it, he didn’t know when the feeling had started. How could he? It would be like trying to remember the earliest moment of your life, the first memory of being alive – it was impossible. No matter how hard he tried to dig at his own head and find the exact moment where it had begun, it all remained like murky water. But it wasn’t important – what mattered was that it was there now.

The worry to see Dean coming out of battles blood-soaked and bruised and broken, and just feel the tiniest shift of the tang on his tongue. It was still worry, this wasn’t going to change, but there was something else too. Something that whispered, _what if he had died_? And the question had been there before, but the answer had never been so loud. The mere thought of it – Dean dead, lifeless, gone – stung, hard, leaving him breathless for a moment.

He shuddered in the darkness, because there had been a moment when he had thought Dean dead – and he remembered the leap of his heart when he had heard him over the phone, when he had clung at him when he had been back.

He had thought, and wrongfully so, that the feeling would stop growing. It already felt too big, swelling and swelling like a tumor in his breast, leaving him suffocating. The worry, the breathlessness, it couldn’t take any more space, or he feared he would burst, pressure pushing him from the inside.

But it had.

It had kept on growing, monstrous and bloody and hungry, settling everywhere in his bones and blood, stitching itself to his skin. He had tried to push it down as hard as he could, teeth-clenched, but it was always there, day and night, laughing at his helplessness. How foolish it felt, to feel his throat tighten anytime danger approached Dean, which was every single day. How impossible it seemed, that the mere sight of him shifted so many things inside him.

By the time he had realized what it was, and the shame gnawed at him with a thousand teeth, it was too late to kill the feeling. So he had hidden it as best as he could – not burying it, it wasn’t possible, just folding it softly, neatly in his heart, keep it tucked, yes, in the warmth of his own blood.

Sometimes he dreamed. _Hoped_ that maybe, Dean felt it too, deep down. Castiel caught himself trapped in daydreams, reverie so mean and hopeful it made him sick.

But the dreams were rare, fortunately. Instead, there was ache, always. Ache to swallow back down, to hide through every look, every smile, every ragged breath. Because God knew, it _hurt_. Stupid human feeling that scorched everything strong that was left in him, foolish hope keeping him on his tiptoes, because what if, what if, what if – but no, _never_.

That’s why he had accepted the Empty’s deal. He could have almost laughed at the proposition, because, yes, he was going to be happy. He had Sam and Dean and Jack, all close to his heart, and he felt joy race through his veins whenever he was with all of them. But true, unconditional happiness? Ha! It would require something that tasted very sweet on his mind, but bitter as he kept remembering it would never, ever happen.

So he had accepted.

The heavy presence of the deal hadn’t vanished from his mind, nestled hard against the back of his brain, but it had become almost normal to bear its weight. He had kept on moving on every day, half-forgetting, relieved in the fact that it had been a foolish deal for the Empty, because he had saved Jack, and it had gotten nothing in return, and never would.

Realization had come one night, hard as the end of the world. He had been reading in his room, home warm and silent and familiar around him. The daily tug of the deal on his mind made him think of it, of Dean, and he smiled thinking that the Empty would never get what it wanted from him. Hell, he would have been just happy to tell Dean how he felt, to finally get those heavy feelings off his chest, yes, he would have been happy just to tell him, let him know how much he mattered to him, to everything, he would have felt wrapped in bliss just to speak it into existence and – oh.

He had stopped smiling.

He had realized. He had never needed Dean to reciprocate his feelings to be happy. Just telling him would suffice. This put a hard lump in his throat, to know his happiness was this easy, that it wouldn’t take much for the Empty to sweep him away forever.

But no. That would never happen either, there just would never be an occasion to do it. In any way, if he was ever forced to, he would be too overwhelmed shame to rejoice, so he couldn’t feel true happiness.

Yes, it would take more than that for darkness to come for him.

Perhaps the Empty had known all along. Perhaps it had seen the future, seen him make the most painful yet freeing decision of his life.

Death had been pounding at the door, and Dean’s eyes had been wide and terrified. Castiel’s own heart stammered, knowing Sam and Jack waited for them, that they – Dean – was most certainly about to die at the hand of the Reaper herself. There just was no escape.

And then.

It had felt like a blow to the chest, as if a hole had been punched right through him. Realization dawning on him like a wave of cold blood. He looked at Dean, and he knew.

He knew that the Empty would require nothing more. He just needed to _say_ it.

Every time he had pictured it, the scene had been blurry. He had imagined himself finally admitting what he felt, but couldn’t hear what he said exactly, and Dean’s face had been a ghost’s, shifting between shock and anger and disgust depending on how hard Castiel wanted to suffer in that daydream.

But when he spoke, everything was clear.

Nothing in his whole life had felt truer, as if he had been made for this exact moment. It had been easy, in some way, because he had been keeping those words bubbling hot in his chest for a long time, always a little too close to the surface. It wasn’t hard because it was the mighty truth sliding from his tongue, everything he thought about Dean laced with his own anguish and _love_. After all, what else had he to loose? Well, everything, because he just couldn’t accept letting Death reap Dean right in front of hie eyes.

So it hadn’t been hard. But it had been the most painful, the most agonizing thing he ever had to do.

He had thought he could stay strong, look Dean in the eye and speak the truth into existence, but he hadn’t expected the sudden tightness of his throat, the tears spilling, salty and bitter, his breath shuddering.

It had been agony, yes, to keep himself together and tell Dean how much he meant to him so quickly, Death pounding and pounding at the door, the sigils glowing weakly. It had hurt because he had realized he had never wanted it to end this way – there still had been so much he wanted to do and see and experience, and he hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye to Sam and Jack. And it had been painful, like a burst of thorns in his throat to say what he had to say, trembling and aching, to know what would happen when he would cease to speak. It had hurt to see the soft confusion pulling at the frown on Dean’s face, it had hurt to see the hardness of his emotions rolling behind his eyes.

And it had hurt even more to say goodbye.

It had taken everything in him not to take Dean in his arms one last time – it had burned like hellfire not to hold him tight, let his familiar warmth sink into his bones to brace himself against the coldness to come. It had been all pains melted into one emotion to simply press his palm against Dean’s shoulder, blood seeping on his clothes, and say,

“Goodbye, Dean”, throat aching, tears scorching.

It had been torture to push him away as hard as he could, away from Death and from the Empty. Torturous, impossible electricity running through his body to look at Dean one last time, carve the memory of him behind his eyelids – but suddenly, relief.

Relief, yes, had spread into him in a cool, sweeping cloud of rain. It was over. He had finally spoken, after all those years, after Hell and blood laced with whiskey, and now it was over. The deal was sealed. And he was alright with that.

Dean would live and would save his brother, Jack, _the_ _world_. And he? Well, he hadn’t felt anything at all anymore, a gentle numbness swelling in a wide breath in his lungs as he had stared at the black door opening in front of him. Reality had seemed to slow and shift, and he couldn’t see anything around him anymore, just feel the tears finish their race down his face. He had felt peace, a strange, slightly bitter taste of it, but it was alright.

_Dean Winchester is saved._

The blackness had come, wrapping its tendrils around him, but he hadn’t moved, hadn’t started even when death-cold seeped beneath his skin. He had only stared ahead, letting the night envelop him in its arms. The air charged itself, ozone-heavy as if before a storm, and then it was over.

The memory slowly receded, flowing back to the back of his mind in silence.

Castiel didn’t know how long he’d been there. Perhaps a minute, perhaps a century. It didn’t matter, because more minutes and more centuries were yet to come, endless. At least he wouldn’t see them pass, because his mind was calmer now, sorrow-numb, grief-drunk after the wash of the past. He let out a long breath inside himself, feeling his grace grow heavier with sleep.

It was over now.

It was peaceful here – silent. And it was always going to be this way.

So he melted down into the not-solid ground of the Empty, listening for the faint humming pulse of the other beings scattered in the blackness around him. Slowly, his consciousness drifted away from him, unfinished business with himself tucked away.

It was over, he thought, and perhaps he thought it into existence.

He sunk into the blackness.

And the booming, howling echo shocked him awake.

Awake. Yes, awake, his eyes were truly open and he sat back with a jolt, looking around him, breathing hard – breathing!

But the darkness was gone. Everything had been blown away, as if some divine hand had ripped the black sheet of night away, and everywhere he looked, color swirled.

He was caught in a moving nebula, pinks and oranges and blues and greens peppered with white, shining stars. Flares and whirlwinds and dust and melting oceans all around, dripping lazily like raindrops. Static shudder among the galaxies, a faint hissing wind dancing around him as he stood up on shaking legs.

He could barely breathe, taken aback by the madness made celestial, spinning carelessly around him. He narrowed his eyes and blurry shapes slowly came into focus – trees and mountains and rivers, but strange. He thought that if he looked away just now, they wouldn’t look like trees and mountains and rivers anymore, but more like trembling sketches of a thought made alive.

He made a small, daring step forward, smoke billowing at his feet as he moved through colorful mist. He turned around and saw the dense mass of a forest, false darkness shadowing in reds and purples, and he knew.

The world.

It was gone.

He knew it like he knew his own name, like he knew every corner of the Universe God has made.

The world was dead.

It had been blown away, the last of them all, blown to dust, and instead Castiel stood among a sketch, among the beginning of a thought. He didn’t question how he knew it, he just did. This was the idea that had emerged in God’s mind, eons and eons ago, things that didn’t look like the things in the world he knew – yet. It was blurry edges and hesitant landscapes, colors and shapes too insane to make sense, but it stood together, impossibly.

The world was gone and all that was left of it was that first idea in God’s young brain, because nothingness didn’t exist alone.

Castiel could feel it in his breast – God was dead. The Darkness was. The Empty was, bound to more than eternal sleep. But there couldn’t be nothing – _nothing_ wasn’t balance.

The Universe had collapsed onto itself, and from its death this shivering newborn of a world not-quite-world had been made.

Castiel took a deep breath, and the air wasn’t fresh, and it wasn’t hot – it was undecided. Like everything else around, really, everything frozen in hesitation, in details that had not yet been taken care of.

The horizon shimmered and he shielded his eyes from the Sun-not-Sun, spotting a dark blot against the pale sea of fields around him, below the melting mass of the lazy nebulas. He started walking towards it, unsure of where his place was in that skeleton of a world, that delicate carcass of something beautiful torn apart with nothing left around.

Suddenly, his heart stammered. It pounded behind his chest, hard, painful. He gave a look around, at the bubbling stretch of sky, the wide plains of smoke grass swinging under the whispering breeze. His eyes stumbled upon moving forms – animals, things strange and unknown, with horns and wings and too many poised, luminous pupils on him.

Where was his place in all this? He hadn’t been afraid when the Empty had taken him, for he had known there would be nothing else after that. You couldn’t be scared of nothingness, of something where you didn’t even exist.

But now? He was alone in that paper-thin world, bound to wander its shivering land forever. Worst than the loneliness, the memories had started to thrum in his head again, coming back to life with thousands of fluttering moth-wings. He swallowed hard, and thought of Sam and Jack and Dean – a dagger to the heart – and wondered, what had happened to them?

Oh, he hadn’t thought about that, too caught up in the moment, too taken aback by the lava-thick skies and misty fields around him. Now, his mind ran in circles, bumping against every single one of his dark theories, and he tasted blood and tears on the back of his tongue. Had they died? Had they been blown away when the rest of the world had? Had they _suffered_?

Castiel stumbled to a stop, breath knocked out of his lungs. He couldn’t imagine either one of the brothers in pain, he couldn’t imagine young Jack suffering once again. He hoped with everything he had it had been quick – one moment alive, one moment not – and the thought soothed him a bit, to imagine that perhaps they had melted into death in a swirl of colors and light, not blood and broken bones.

Could Jack be there? Castiel wondered, looking around him once more. Did Heaven still exist, Hell, Purgatory? What happened to all the souls on Earth, now freed from all the chains of the afterlife?

A hard sob swelled in Castiel’s throat and he started walking again. A flight of non-birds flew above his head, twittering like small bells.

His chest was pressed tight, grief and despair seizing him at the throat. He blinked and realized the world had dimmed around him. The sky was slowly melting into a bruise, dark blue and purple, harsh streaks of orange and yellow like a fresh wound above the treetops, long ruby shadows stretched across the grounds. Night was falling.

Did monsters exist in that perfect, innocent world?

The perspective of nightfall had never scared him more. The weight of loneliness fell a little heavier on his shoulders, making his head dip to the lavender grounds. He thought that perhaps, he should find shelter until daybreak, the time he had spent in Purgatory harsh and fresh in his memory – except, except, Dean had been there at some point, and he would never be here now.

The fields seemed to whisper his name now, wind slithering between the pale blades of grass to brush against his ear, _Cas, Cas, Cas Cas, Cas_ …

He looked up again, blood clotting his tongue, bitter sorrow rising in tides inside him. He had been walking aimlessly for what seemed hours, and he realized he had no idea where he was going. Bloody sunlight burned his eyes, shooting beams of warmth down the sky, and pearly insects buzzed about his face, touching his fingertips lightly. The breeze murmured his name again, and he ground his teeth, annoyed by the taunting tone it took, the single syllable a gliding breath, soft and gentle and shocked, close, too close, to a voice he knew way too well.

He almost choked when he saw the dark shape from before, a few yards away now. The wind was cool, but the air glimmered ahead of him, making it impossible to see clearly. He wished he had his blade, his hunter instincts telling him many threats could still hide in the shadows of such luminous, naive world.

But really, he suddenly thought, what was left to fear? He was dead, wasn’t he?

Clenching his fists, he strode across the fields, eyes hard as rocks fixed on the moving dark shape in front of him. The air was blood and plum mixed together, the shadows dark syrup spilling away. Whatever that creature was – animal or nature or monster –, he had no choice but to face it; and he gritted his teeth against the constant litany of the wind, now howling his name with strangled tears and agony. Now, _that_ would be worse than to die again – the torture of hearing _his_ voice day after day, running after it until he fell in exhaustion, empty air in his grasp.

“Cas!”

Now, rage burned up in Castiel’s heart. It was too much, too painful. Maybe it was cowardly, but all he wanted was to run away from that voice carried by the stormy weather. Leaving Dean had already been too much to bear, but to bear his haunting for all eternity, forever wondering what happened to him? It was a punishment that even he didn’t think he deserved.

Tension building up behind his temples, he rose a hand to his eyes again, body tense and expecting attack at any moment, shadow leaping at his throat to tear him apart.

“Cas?”

Oh now that sounded too real, the pain and shock and grief in the voice as solid as the ground beneath his feet, and he made another step and the shadows engulfed him, the scene shifting, and he could finally focus on what was in front of him, fists clenched and ready to bite back and-

Stop _dead_.

“Cas, that really you?”

Castiel blinked, and blinked, no longer blinded by the sun but by an emotion so great he thought it might push him right into oblivion. He stopped, as if struck by lightning, heaving at the violence of the vision.

“Dean?” he breathed, the single world like a punch to the gut, a knife pushed through his throat gurgling blood.

He didn’t have time to react, just take in the shock-wave of Dean swearing under his breath, crossing the remaining space between them, and suddenly he was _there_ – wrapping Castiel so hard in his arms he could barely breathe, fusing their bodies together with such force the angel wondered, _but doesn’t he think I might be a trap? A shape-shifting thing there to trick him?_ But he felt the pressure of Dean’s chest – his breathing ragged and cut short by heavy sobs –, felt his trembling hands gripping at the back of his coat, and he thought that maybe Dean hadn’t thought about that for one second.

Castiel couldn’t react, like transfixed, his palms hovering over Dean’s back, and he put them lightly on him as if he might dissolve into the air.

“Is this real?” he murmured, too low to be heard, eyes swinging about the colorful, ever-dancing fields around them, the sky darkening gently, and he could almost feel Dean’s heartbeat pound against his own breast.

Dean pulled back slowly – and it felt like Castiel has been dipped into icy water – but he didn’t let go, his hands set hard and trembling on Castiel’s shoulders, and his face was wide open like a wound, and he stared at him in utter astonishment, tears dangling in his green eyes.

“You’re really here, right?” he asked, hopeful, sounding Cas’ face as if the answer lied beneath his skin, and he seemed about to crumble to dust at any moment.

Castiel swallowed hardly, his voice a hard rock in his throat. “I am,” he said carefully, and something shattered with a crash inside him when he saw Dean take in a shuddering breath as his hands fell back on his sides, his whole body shaking violently. Castiel frowned, cold spreading inside him, and he refused to believe it. “But how are you here?”

Dean scoffed bitterly, and Castiel saw it, how exhausted and desperate he was, the shadows beneath his eyes, the breaking that twisted and snapped right below the surface, threatening to blow up. “I don’t even know where we are,” he said pitifully. “We just woke up there after… after everything,” he said, blinking rapidly as chaos flashed by his gaze.

“You said we,” Castiel remarked, his heart tapping madly against his ribcage, and the world seemed to spin in a blur around him. He blinked, breathless. “Are they with you? Sam and Jack.”

Dean looked back at him, his chest swelling, shivers running all over him. “They are,” he said, and suddenly it was like he was seeing Castiel for the first time, and his eyes got wide and damp. “I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I just needed some time, you know, alone. But I didn’t think I would find you there,” he said, and his voice died in a strangled breath.

Castiel found himself unable to look at him in the eye – flashes, flashes of what happened, of what he said the last time they were face to face, it shook under his skin like vipers, it stung at his throat and his eyes, and it hurt too much – and he looked beyond Dean’s shoulder, shaken. “But what happened? How did you get here?”

“I’m not sure,” Dean whispered, looking around at the mad swirls of color around them, a little frown on his face when he saw a herd of strange, feathery creatures staring at them, and Castiel couldn’t help the wash of tenderness crashing inside of him. “It was Jack,” he finally said, looking back at Castiel, and there was something like ache and pride on his face. “I don’t know how it happened, but he used his power and then… he was gone. _God_. And I guess Amara was with him too. That’s the last thing I remember before everything went black and I woke up here.” He furrowed his brow. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere,” Castiel says, smiling when Dean gives him a confused look. “By killing God and Amara, I suppose you broke everything that kept the world standing and this--” he gave the falling sun a sweeping gaze, “this was born in its place. A blueprint of the world you knew, if you want to see it that way.”

Dean didn’t seem reassured. Instead, his features went slack and his throat bobbed when he swallowed. “We destroyed the world?” he said in a very small voice.

Castiel frowned, taken aback. “No, _God_ did. You couldn’t have known the consequences of his death.”

“But everything we’ve done, all those years… It was all for nothing. In the end, we were the ones to destroy the world,” Dean said, and there was anger bursting behind his eyes. He ground his teeth, taking a small step back. “It was all for nothing.”

“It’s not your fault,” Castiel said, getting closer, moved by an instinct buried deep inside him, loathing the hurt on Dean’s face. “You’ve done everything you could, and if you’re here, then maybe everyone else is.” He tilted his head, now trying to meet Dean’s gaze. “You’ve fought for this world on your own when you could have just watched it burn, Dean.”

“Don’t say that,” Dean suddenly cut him off, closing his eyes. “Last time you said something like that, you disappeared on me.”

Castiel stopped dead, the force of the memory like a blow to the head, and he sees red for a second. “Dean, I’m sorry-”

“No, you don’t get to say that,” Dean snapped, his eyes fiery when he looked back at him. But beyond that, there was something deeper, wide and vulnerable as he curled his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “I should be the one apologizing. What you did with the Empty… I messed up everything and now you’re dead because of me.”

Castiel stiffened, but got closer, closer again. “I think you know by now this was my decision. There’s no one to blame for that but me.” He clenched his jaw, tears burning up in his eyes. “Besides, I wish I could have done more. What I did saved you from Death, but only for a moment. That’s my fault if you’re here now.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dean said angrily, shivering all over. “I let you sacrifice yourself that day, and that’s not something I can ever forgive myself for.” He rose a hand to cut Castiel off. “No, I don’t care. If you had let me just one second to think, I would have been able to do something. I wouldn’t have just stood by doing nothing!”

“There was no other way, Billie was going to kill us no matter what.”

“But why didn’t you tell me before? About the deal, about everything?” Dean exclaimed, despair washing over his features as his eyes widen in horror as he remembered the black portal opening, the terrible realization that had sunk him in ice. “I would rather have died back there than see you go like that!”

Castiel clenched his teeth. “I would have never let you die.”

“You could’ve at least given me the time to process what you said to me!” Dean shouted, and his voice echoed all around, bouncing like a living thing among the purple shadows.

Castiel felt shame wash over him, burning down like acid in the pit of his stomach. He wished he could look away, but his eyes were liked hooked into Dean’s, magnetized by the burning feeling he saw in them. The thrill of seeing him again receded like the tide away from the shore, and he was left with nothing but the litany of his own words, telling Dean, _I love you, I love you, I love you_ – and it was agony to just stand in front of him with those words ringing between the two of them, as heavy as the darkening skies.

He lowered his head, burning, burning shame rising in his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He shut his eyes tight for a second, violence in his heart. “I just thought I should be honest with you one last time, and besides, there was no other way that the Empty would come. But I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

Dean scoffed, making Castiel look at him in surprise. Dean was staring at him, incredulous, eyes glassy. “You think that’s the problem here?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean opened his mouth, closed it. He was visibly trying to hold himself together but the tremor that shook him whole told another story. Castiel could see it, the battle happening behind Dean’s irises as he tried to harness his emotions the best he could – probably to agree with Castiel without hurting him, of course.

“That wasn’t the problem,” Dean murmured softly after a moment, tilting his head with ache on his face. He swallowed the lump in his throat and he seemed at loss with himself, looking in despair at Castiel as if he wanted to act but didn’t know how.

Castiel pushed the heaviness on his chest away and made the weak attempt of a smile. “It’s alright. I’ve never expected anything from you,” he said and God, here they were, the tears that plunged from his eyes no matter how hard he bit down his tongue. “You don’t have to be afraid of that.”

Dean stared and stared, lips parted as if the words were ready to slip away from them, but he remained silent, breathing hard in disarray.

Castiel held his gaze before nodding slowly to himself. He tried a smile again. “Do you think you could take me to Sam and Jack?” he asked softly.

Dean blinked rapidly, taken aback. “Yeah, of course,” he said but his voice died in his lungs. “But-”

Castiel made a few steps, purposely staring at the direction Dean had come from. “I still feel bad for not having a chance to say goodbye to them.” He turned around and looked at Dean, still frozen. “We don’t know what’s going to happen next. I might not have another opportunity to apologize to them.”

He waited for Dean to answer something, but Dean still stared at him, mouth agape, eyes glimmering, without a sound. So Castiel gave him another smile and he turned around again, walking away in hope it would finally shake Dean awake and that he would lead him to Sam and Jack – and his chest burned at the idea of seeing them again.

He’d moved several feet away now, thinking Dean might follow him silently – but his voice suddenly sprung from behind him, shattering everything that held him together.

“Wait!”

Castiel stopped and slowly turned around, giving Dean a puzzled look. “What?”

Dean seemed to shake out of his shock and crossed the space between them in a few rapid steps. When he stood in front of Castiel, his eyes were wide and alert, panic washing over his face, something glazed about the way he looked at Castiel.

“Wait,” he repeated, breathless. Castiel stared at him expectantly, and Dean felt his heart clench. He had seen Cas last just a couple of days ago, but the memories of Castiel’s face slowly breaking away, the tears in his eyes, the realization of what he was seeing, the black door opening and taking him away from him – it felt like centuries had passed, making him feel like an impossible gap had opened between them.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice low and raspy.

Castiel frowned. “Dean, I told you this wasn’t-”

“No,” Dean cut him off, and there was strangeness in his voice, a shaking tension so far away from his usual cool steadiness. “I’m sorry I didn’t react. I should have said something to stop you. But I just… I just froze.” His features suddenly broke away and he dived his eyes into Castiel’s, despair swirling in them like the dark colors of the sky. “I wanted to say something but I just _couldn’t_. And then the Empty came and it was too late.”

Castiel stared at him, exhaling a soft breath. “Nothing you could have said would have made me change my mind. It was the only way to save you.”

“But I hate it,” Dean insisted. “I hate to know the last thing you remember of me is that I just let you go. That I abandoned you.”

Castiel sighed and made a small step to him, close, too close, and the pain flared up in his chest again. “I never thought that. I didn’t give you a choice, because it was the only way you wouldn’t try to stop me.”

“But I wanted to stop you. I wanted to say something, anything that wouldn’t make you think I didn’t care.” Dean’s eyes were almost magnetic, and his breathing was hard and ragged, rattling up his throat. “Because I did.”

“I know,” Castiel said softly.

“No, you don’t,” Dean said with such emergency in his voice that Castiel stopped, taken aback. Dean moved closer, just a tiny shift that set fire to Castiel’s chest, but the worst remained the look on Dean’s face – the brokenness, the regret, the bitter self-hatred. “I don’t know what took me. I should’ve stopped you. I should’ve told you.”

“Dean...” Castiel murmured, giving him a compassionate look.

“You said the only thing you wanted, you couldn’t have it,” Dean said rapidly, and his eyes fluttered around, as if he was unraveling a little, before he blinked and looked back at Castiel, holding his breath. “That’s not true.”

Castiel frowned, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “I-”

“That’s what I should’ve said,” Dean breathed, shaking his head as tears fell like shooting stars from his eyes. He stared at the mist swirling at their feet, breathing hard. “Maybe it wouldn’t have stopped you, but at least I would have tried. I would’ve done something, instead of letting the Empty take you.” When he raised his head back to Castiel, his lip quivered. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Dean, it’s alright, I promise.”

“No, listen to me,” Dean said, and he’s _close_. Closer than ever, shaking and vulnerable, eyes like waterfall, but there was something soft in their depths too. “I couldn’t say anything because I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t accept that you were going to give yourself like that, that you were going to die for me. _Because_ of me. I was in shock and I was scared, and I forgot to hold you back. But you need to hear it now, alright?” Castiel nodded slowly, watching him step closer again with his heart beating in his tongue. Dean took a deep, shaking breath. “You said you couldn’t have what you wanted, but you never asked. You never asked _me_.”

Castiel froze, and Dean closed his eyes, and suddenly his forehead was pressed against Castiel’s. His hands were shaking as he gripped his arm, his fingers clenched on his coat. “When I realized you were gone for good… I just gave up. I didn’t want to fight God or anything else anymore. It made me sick to know I was alive only because of you, that you had sacrificed yourself for me – and that I didn’t deserve that. But I kept on hoping that you knew, even if I didn’t say it. I kept telling myself that, that somehow you knew and it made everything alright – but it didn’t.”

He suddenly pulled away, just a little, and his eyes met Castiel’s puzzled ones. Dean had a broken laugh.

“You know I do right?” he asked and he saw confusion spread on Castiel’s face, and it made him smile despite it all. “You were wrong, Cas. I love you too.”

Castiel felt it like a blow to the chest, as if a hole had been punched through him, leaving him bloodless and breathless. “What?” he couldn’t help but blurt, daggers and knives and spears shooting through him when Dean nodded in silence, a broken smile spreading across his face, tears pearling down like rain.

And Castiel noticed the night had almost fallen now, but he didn’t have time to care – because Dean’s eyelids grew heavier and his eyes looked at him differently, and he was leaning in and in – and Castiel couldn’t move, although he wouldn’t have never wanted to.

The press of Dean’s lips against his squeezed the air out of his lungs, making him hiccup a broken sob. And though Dean was surprisingly gentle, it set Castiel’s blood alight, and he could feel the tears racing down his face, and suddenly Dean’s hands were framing it, pulling him closer and closer, and the kiss grew hard and desperate.

It tasted of salt and blood, and it carried memories of so many years stitched together in one blur of impossible circumstances and destiny-cheating paths. It felt like a dream, like something the Empty would have put in his head to lull him to sleep – but no, it was real, as real as it could be in that world-not-world with strange shapes and strange beings and strange colors.

Dean was warm and solid, pressed against him, and his fingertips burned on Castiel’s skin. He kissed him hard, his mouth fever-hot, hungry but gentle, desperate but relieved. Castiel’s fingers were curled hard on his shoulder where he felt the pulse of the mark he had left so many years ago. It felt unreal, each of his daydreams put together to soothe him – but no, no, it was real, it was more real than anything he’d ever known, the longing in his chest released into the air.

When he pulled back, lungs aching, lips bruised and skin prickling with tears, the world danced a little around him, for a split-second. He blinked, and the dizziness vanished, only leaving the clear picture of Dean’s shock-slack features still close to his.

Both of them seemed too stunned to speak, sipping in shallow breaths. Dean didn’t let go of his face, cradling it gently, still pressing his forehead against his. Castiel thought he could hear his soul thrumming in his fingertips, a faint, familiar melody that soothed the frantic blood flowing in his veins. Even Dean basked in the strangest of peace – his heart seemed too big for his chest, loud and pumping, but it was as if some heavy weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

“Should we go see Sam and Jack now?” Castiel whispered, and he didn’t want to let go, not in a million years.

“We should,” Dean replied, his voice soft, but he didn’t move. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, emptying his lungs and filling them again with the peculiar, light air of this new world. He didn’t know what this new existence meant yet, but there seemed to be freedom about it – no more God watching from up above, cruel and unkind, and no more stormy divine entities, and no more blood-thirsty creatures filing the shadows.

Dean slowly moved back, and it felt cold, and for a moment he felt fear seize his chest until he realized it wouldn’t have to be this way ever again. Cas looked up at him, eyes wide and shiny with tears and hope. Dean nodded to himself, because yes, it felt good, it felt right. It felt right to have let it all out without fear or shame, to know there wouldn’t be pain bleeding into his life right after. To just enjoy that warm thought as if monsters had never existed.

Castiel let out a breath and he followed Dean through the field of mist, his shoulder pressed hard against his. The night had fallen for good now, but it wasn’t frightening. It didn’t whisper with violence and misery – it was silent, quiet. The red and purple shadows had fallen upon the soft ground, strange beings fluttering by in dots of icy light, and the sky continued to swirl and snap in flares, benevolent, imperturbable. Castiel allowed himself to take breath after after breath, the sharp pinch of worry behind his ribs gone, finally tasting true, unaltered _happiness_ for the first time.

Dean was warm against him, and the ghost touch of his lips still lingered on Castiel’s. His grace was almost aglow as they arrived by a small makeshift campfire, flames licking up the air, ruby-bright, and beyond its dancing form he saw Jack standing up, shock spreading on his young face, and next to him, Sam’s eyes glistened with tears, and his chest swelled up as he looked between Castiel and Dean, and his hold tightened around Eileen, whose face lighted up with a gentle smile.

And then Castiel knew.

The world didn’t need saving.

It needed breaking.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this crazy non-sense, my hands are still shaking as I write this. 2020 might be the shittiest year so far, but what happened was a win, a BIG win, and I do hope we'll get more in the two episodes to come.  
> Pray with me for that sisters!


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